


Juno Steel and the Man Behind the Mask

by takethebreadsticksandRUN



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Juno Steel is in Love, No Angst, Other, Rita is a good friend, absolutely no angst whatsoever, as a tma fan i think of the carte blanche times as the Scottish Safehouse Period for tpp, i am Lonely can't you tell, juno has a thing for teeth but it's not a huge part of the story, juno is growing and i love him for it, just think you should know, peter nureyev is stunning and vv sexy and that is Not his fault, so here is a wonderfully fluffy offering, so in love, the complexity of several identities, the inherent intimacy of eating crappy cereal with your best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27033514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethebreadsticksandRUN/pseuds/takethebreadsticksandRUN
Summary: “Good morning, Rita,” he says lightly, bending over slightly to kiss Juno on the cheek, “Good morning, love.” He sits down beside him with an incredibly smug smile, knowing he is the cause of the flustered noises Juno is now making.He wants to say good morning or hello, Peter, or I love you but what comes out instead is decidedly less romantic. “Is it morning? I’ve lost track of time when I fell asleep earlier, not quite sure what decade it is right now.”OReating cereal with your bff and ignoring the existence of time is the best way to live.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, Rita & Juno Steel
Comments: 14
Kudos: 98





	Juno Steel and the Man Behind the Mask

**Author's Note:**

> hiya tpp fandom! i've FINALLY caught up to the juno steel storyline and am listening to the hallowed halls of helicoid right now so i decided it's time to whip out my fic-writing tools and begin actually contributing to this lovely community. please be nice and let me know what you think! this is by no means my first fic (i've written a lot for tma so if you like that feel free to read some of my stuff) but i'm still getting the hang of new character voices.  
> enjoy!  
> xxx

The Carte Blanche rattles around him as he pads down the hall to the kitchen, unsure of what time it is but not really caring anymore. What’s the point of a clock if all you have to look forward to are Buddy’s family meetings and mealtimes? Someone will come to find him for the meetings, and meals- well, he’s never had the firmest grasp on what a _healthy_ sleeping/eating schedule looked like.

But now, instead of staying up late drowning his guilt in whiskey bottles or case files, Juno is rolling out of bed in the (supposed) morning, no senseless mysteries eating away at his mind, no (pressing) concerns about what monster he would become that day, about what new horror he would unearth in Hyperion City.

Juno flips on the light in the kitchen to reveal-

“Hiya boss! Haven’t seen ya out of your room in a while, was starting to get a little worried, I thought maybe one of those space vampires- you know, the ones on _The Mystery of the Missing Blood and Stolen Hearts 4: Mistakes and Missed Stakes_ that Mistah Jet watched with me? The ones with the great big fangs, kinda like Mistah Ransom’s teeth, the ones you said you really like-“

Rita sits at the table, her short legs swinging rapidly as she fires off words faster than Juno can catch them, a stream playing on the small screen in front of her, a bowl of sugary pink cereal half-eaten at her elbow.

He tries to interrupt her with half a laugh but she keeps going, undeterred. “-and anyway, I kinda thought maybe one of them got into the Carte Blanche somehow and had trapped you in your room. I didn’t know if you woulda wanted me to rescue you or just let the vampire keep you there. Some people find vampires _awfully_ attractive. I don’t really get it, I can’t _imagine_ not being able to share snacks with someone, that’s the best part of a stream, isn’t it, Mistah Steel?”

Juno smiles at her, feeling so blissfully at peace that he is starting to get a little worried, wondering when the next surprise is going to jump out at him from behind a corner and take another piece of him as a trophy. But Rita’s presence is as comforting as it is difficult to ignore, so he takes down a bowl and pours himself some cereal as well.

“Thanks, Rita, that’s…thoughtful of you.”

She beams at him as he sits down next to her. “You are very welcome, boss. So what _were_ you doing? I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I was getting kinda worried there.”

“Just tired, I guess,” he says, taking a bite. It’s dreadfully sugary and so artificial he grins, savoring the rebellion against a healthy diet for once. Vespa’s been on the cooking rotation for the past week; she is a firm believer in the _a packaged and dried form of some unidentifiable vegetable a day will keep the sickness at bay_ rule. It wasn’t terrible; he’s had worse (Rita was forced to sign an NDA after the disaster that was the Great Cooking Class Incident), but this is much better.

Rita hums thoughtfully beside him. “That makes sense. You _nevah_ slept enough back on Mars, and now that Mistah Ransom is here to force ya to take care of yourself-“

Juno chokes around a mouthful of cereal. “What- what are you _talking_ about?” he coughs.

“Well,” she says slowly, worried that she is going to cross some unseen line, “Like I said, boss, you just didn’t sleep very well, you didn’t eat _anythin_ that I brought you, it looked like you were about to run yourself into the ground from workin so hard!” She is still tentative, but Juno can hear the worry in her voice from the past few months and hates himself for it.

“You’re right,” he concedes, “I didn’t. I’m sorry, Rita.”

She bumps his arm with her elbow, very nearly knocking over her own bowl in the process. “Aww, don’t worry about it, boss! It’s _all_ good now. You know,” she says, taking a bite from her rescued breakfast/dinner/fourth snack of the day, “I’m startin to think that Mars was a _real downer_ for ya. You’re much happier out here. I wonder why?”

Juno starts to answer with _it’s the open space_ or _I don’t have to worry about as much_ or _I’m just glad to be alive for once_ or a thousand other half-truths half-excuses as Peter appears at his shoulder, his socked feet soundless on the floor. Juno’s words die on his lips as he walks over to the table, graceful and elegant in every motion (it’s very unfair, Juno thinks, how he makes walking look like an art form).

“Good morning, Rita,” he says lightly, bending over slightly to kiss Juno on the cheek, “Good morning, love.” He sits down beside him with an _incredibly_ smug smile, knowing he is the cause of the flustered noises Juno is now making.

He wants to say _good morning_ or _hello, Peter,_ or _I love you_ but what comes out instead is decidedly less romantic. “Is it morning? I’ve lost track of time when I fell asleep earlier, not quite sure what decade it is right now.”

Peter laughs softly, the tips of his teeth glinting in the harsh lighting of the kitchen. “Yes, we all know how fond you are of explaining how-“

“Time is a social construct,” Rita interjects.

“Yes, exactly. But unfortunately, according to this particular form of self-delusion and aggrandizing our tiny place in the cosmos, it is morning.”

They all laugh a little at that, Juno taking another bite of now-soggy cereal to avoid having to defend himself. As he swallows, he looks over at the man by his side and has to catch his breath again. Every time he thinks he has mastered the ability to slip back into his hardened P.I.-turned-thief shell, Nureyev slips through the cracks and breaks it again.

Peter Nureyev. The thief without a name, the heart without a home, the sharp-eyed sharp-toothed man with a soft spot for a certain sharp-shooter. When a disguise has been used, he slips it into a pocket of lives he has led, never to be unfolded or reused.

Juno can read each alias in the lines of his face, in the swoop of his hair, in the imaginary photographs stuffed into a box under his metaphorical bed. He doesn’t say a word about this to anyone, just sits back and tries to see who is wearing Nureyev’s skin for the day.

_Rex Glass_ , one of them might read, a confident man with a distinct swagger to his steps reclining in the photo. Juno hadn’t seen Glass for a while, his delicate brazenness nowhere to be found with the new softness to Peter’s words.

Another might be labeled _Duke Rose_ , showcasing a man with all the right bets and none of the fear of a gambler. Rose still smiled at Juno sometimes, bringing back memories of a tense card game and a time before everything fell apart. Again.

_Monsier Dauphin_ was still fresh in Juno’s memories, thoughts of twirling around a dance floor, every sensation heightened by the press of his hands on Juno’s back as he dipped, the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he spotted the jewel-studded map, and the un-banishable impression that maybe all wasn’t lost. That maybe, just maybe, he could make this okay.

Now _Peter Ransom_ stands before him, looking a little lost and unsure of himself but more present than Juno had ever seen him. So, because he’s allowed to, he reaches out and takes his hand.

Peter Nureyev swims in and out of his life, wearing a different face, a different name, but now all Juno can see is the man he loves. What does it matter what he calls himself?

To Juno, Peter is his only weakness, the only thing that can truly stop him in his tracks, the person for whom he learned how to forgive himself and apologize to others.

“Well, good morning, then, darling,” he says, treasuring the way it feels on his tongue and even better, the soft smile on Peter's face.

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts?


End file.
